The One a Month Man (20 page)

Within five minutes of leaving Pomfrey we’d decided to take off for a few days away from the madding crowd. After packing a few essentials, such as toothbrushes and condoms, we were undecided whether to train it from Victoria to Brighton or Paddington to Torquay, both towns on the south coast.

‘Toss for it,’ suggested Sarah.

‘Heads Brighton, tails Torquay,’ I said.

Sarah tossed, caught the coin, and flipped it on to the back of her hand. ‘Heads,’ she said.

‘OK, Brighton it is,’ I confirmed. ‘I’ll make a reservation.’

I knew I ought to phone my estranged wife and ask after the kids, but my brain was too blitzed for any meaningful
conversation
and most definitely far too fragile for mental sparring.

That evening, having booked into a hotel on the seafront, we dined from Room Service and drowsily stretched out together on the bed, channel-hopping by remote to see if we could catch a soporific movie on TV.

We thought we had hit lucky, only to discover that the film just beginning was
Jaws 1V
.

‘No! No! No more sharks,’ decreed Sarah, snatching the remote from me and slaying the beast with one touch of the red button, a trick that had not been available to Richard Pope.

Sleep came easily, but, unfortunately, so did the nightmares.

Nailed

Bullet for an Encore

Last Bus to the Grave

Deadline